Inevitable
by blakefan
Summary: Was it inevitable? He'll wonder about that later, wonder if that was the whole reason they invited him to live with them - and they did that together, whether they knew it or not, the pair of them both speaking to him about it, inviting him into their home, and though he could not have guessed it at the time maybe they had known that they were inviting him into their bed as well.


He knows, has always known, that when it comes to Lucien Blake the normal rules of right and wrong cease to apply. Blake exists in a world of his own making, unfettered by such concerns. It's the sort of thing that ordinarily rubs Matthew the wrong way; it isn't fair, he's thought more than once, that Blake should be so free to do as he pleases while other people are constrained by rules, procedure, etiquette. It isn't fair, he's told himself, shuffling through paperwork, lying to cover Blake's hide yet again, standing in front of an ethics committee to answer for things that Blake has done; it isn't _fair, _he's thought, wishing he could claim even a piece of that freedom for himself.

He has that freedom now, though. Blake has given it to him, and in this moment he finds he no longer cares about what's right, what's normal, what's _good. _All he knows, right now, is _want, _and somehow Blake and Jean between them have found the answer to a question he didn't even know how to ask.

Was it inevitable? He'll wonder about that later, wonder if that was the whole reason they invited him to live with them - and they did that together, whether they knew it or not, the pair of them both speaking to him about it, inviting him into their home, and though he could not have guessed it at the time maybe they had known even then that they were inviting him into their bed as well. That's another question for _later_, that question of whether this is a one time thing, or if it'll happen again. If it only happens once, he knows he can blame it on the whiskey and never mention it again and hold the memories close in his heart, but if it happens again...if it happens again, it will become something else entirely, and he doesn't know what to call it, what to name it, how to feel about it, doesn't want to know, not right now at least. Right now he just _wants, _Christ, he wants.

It was so deftly done he knows they must have come up with this plan together. Jean, smiling softly, leaning up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his stubbled cheek, catching his tie in her hand and beginning to pull him along the corridor, and before he could protest Blake was at his back, broad hands on his shoulders, warm breath whispering over the curve of his neck and they did not tell him, did not explain to him in words, but Jean led him to Blake's bedroom and he had known, then, what this was about, and he had not pulled away from either of them.

He had not pulled away because there is a part of him that wants this, has always wanted it, and now that it's being handed to him he can't find the strength to deny himself.

It's Blake he wants, has wanted more than he has ever wanted anyone else, Blake with his broad shoulders and his big hand and his damned, smug arrogance, Blake with his warm smile and soft blue eyes, Blake who reaches for him, touches him more than a friend would, or should. Of course it's Blake he wants, Blake who is full of passion, Blake who is hard and strong and reckless, Blake whose very presence fills the room until Matthew can hardly find the space to breathe. Blake's soft lips, the scratch of his beard, the heavy corded muscles of his arms, Blake who has everything Matthew never will, power and status and wealth and love and two legs that work and the freedom to do and be whatever he likes, never mind the consequences.

But before Blake came back it was Jean he wanted, Jean who was lithe and lovely and beautiful, Jean who smiled at him so gently when they were young, when she was just beginning to blossom from a gangly girl into a beautiful woman. He remembers the first time he noticed Jean had breasts; it was the first time he ever noticed how his body might react to a girl, and all the things he might like to do with one if he ever got her alone. But he played by the rules and he lost her; Christopher wasn't afraid to go after what he wanted and damn the rest, and Christopher won her. She belonged to him, then, and nothing Matthew could do about it but smile tightly and offer his congratulations. He used to visit the farm, while Christopher was deployed, make sure she was fed, that she was getting on all right, and while he would happily have seized his chance then all she wanted to talk about was Christopher, and he had known then that his moment had already passed him by. He never pressed his luck, but then Blake swooped in and took her, too, and Matthew left with nothing at all except the tension of two entirely different aches coiled tight within his chest and tearing at one another.

But now Jean has led him here, to Blake's room, has closed and locked the door, and they undressed him together, Blake and Jean, her lips on his collarbone, Blake's lips on the soft skin just behind his ear, four hands pressing at him, peeling him gently from his clothes until he is completely naked and they are not and he is left sandwiched between them, Jean at his front, her hands drifting over his ass, Blake at his back, his hands drifting lower and lower, towards the place where Matthew's cock has begun to swell despite the strangeness of it all.

They have a plan; whether they have discussed it in detail or whether it is some sort of reflexive understanding borne of their own shared intimacies Matthew doesn't know. It's Jean's gentle hands that push him towards the mattress, and then they're taking their time with one another, Blake and Jean, exchanging soft, wet kisses, whispered words he cannot hear, their hands ghosting over one another as piece by piece they shed their clothes together, and all the while Matthew sits on the bed, watching, stroking his own cock because he's not sure what's happening, exactly, but he suspects that whatever it is he'll need to be hard for it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks they mean only for him to watch them. After all they are madly, passionately in love with one another, and there is a ring on Jean's finger to prove their commitment to the bond between them. That is a bond between two people, not three; maybe, he thinks, they enjoy the thrill of bringing him to watch them, and his own needs will be no more than an afterthought. Maybe he, thinks, after, when they're done and satisfied, they'll let him spill himself against Jean's soft skin. It is not exactly what he wants, but it's better than nothing, and it's what he prepares himself for, but they have other plans.

The moment they're both bare they turn to him and he has to swallow hard against the groan that longs to escape from the back of his throat. They are, each in their own way, completely perfect. The soft swell of Jean's breast, the sharp points of her hips, the thatch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs; _Christ, _no woman her age should look that good and yet, impossibly, she does. And Blake - damn him - is solid as a rock, somehow more visibly muscular out of his clothes than in them, broad and hard and almost terrifyingly strong. He looms over them both, Jean and Matthew, smiling in a way that sets Matthew's heart to racing, and though there is not much hair on his chest there is a small blonde trail that starts below his navel and leads down to…

Matthew knows what it means, the reaction he has when he sees Blake's cock for the first time. He knows it's always been there in the back of his mind, this want, this need, but for the first time in his life he doesn't fight it, the way his mouth goes dry and his own cock twitches with want. Blake is big, bigger than Matthew - and bigger than Matthew expected - long and thick, and so hard already that his shaft is straining up towards where Matthew sits perched on the end of the bed. Matthew's hands pause in their perusal of his own length, but only because he has to fight the urge to reach out and take hold of Blake instead.

Maybe they see it anyway, Jean and Blake, maybe they know what it means, the way he's staring at them now, because they move towards him then, gently, push and pull and prod him until he's laying stretched out on his side on the bed, with Blake at his back and Jean at his front. They're both so warm, so unbelievably warm, and everywhere their skin touches his, his body burns.

It's Jean who asks him, because of course it is, because she's the sort of person who cares about other people and Blake is the sort of person who _takes_. Her soft breasts brush against his chest and he reaches up reflexively to palm one while her lips ghost over his jaw.

"Do you want this?" she asks him. Doesn't tell him what, just lets him decide for himself. He doesn't need the words, anyway, because he can feel Blake's cock against his ass and he can feel Jean's hand reach down to stroke him and he knows, suddenly, that this is going to be more about _him _than he initially anticipated. That thought sends a thrill through him; it has been so long, so very long, since anyone lavished such attention upon him, and Jean is pressing herself into his hand and stroking his cock and Blake is at his back and he _knows -_

"Yes," he says, quickly, sharply.

Jean beams at him, and kisses the corner of his mouth. He turns his head to catch her but Blake won't let him; one strong hand finds purchase against his throat, fingertips pressing gently at his jawline, tilting his head so that it's _Blake's_ mouth he meets, and not hers, and in that moment he realizes two things. One, that Jean still belongs to Blake, and no matter what happens next Matthew won't be allowed to have her. And two, that Blake wants him, just as much as he wants to be wanted, and as Blake's tongue surges into his mouth he can't help but buck against the place where Jean is touching him.

That draws a laugh from her, silvery and sweet, and inexplicably she spins around, and he has only a moment to wonder what she's doing before her lips brush the tip of his cock and Blake's searching finger finds the rim of his ass and _oh, _they're doing this now, they're really going to do this.

He takes a few deep breaths through his nose while Blake kisses him, focuses his eyes on the soft, lean line of Jean's legs running just in front of his face, while Lucien's finger - wet with something, and he doesn't know what, but the man is clearly prepared, and doctor's training alone can't account for this level of knowledge, and _Christ _Matthew has a lot of questions to ask later - probes him deeper and he breaks their kiss to groan.

It's Blake's turn to laugh, this time, pressing just that little bit further into Matthew, and it's been a while since he's done this but it's coming back to him. Carefully he relaxes, watches the way Jean's thighs rub together, and he wonders if she's wet, if this is doing it for her, because it's so much easier to tell that he and Blake are enjoying themselves but he wants it to be good for Jean, too. They're in this together, whatever it takes, wherever it leads them.

It's unlike any pleasure he's ever known, he decides, to have the woman he's wanted from childhood lying naked in front of him and running her tongue along the heavy vein that flows down the side of his cock, to feel the indescribable thrill of Blake's fingers - two of them now - pumping him slowly, preparing him for what's to come next. He's on fire, his whole self is twisting tighter and tighter almost to the point of breaking but he tries, he tries so hard, to stay relaxed, to breathe, because as nice as it might be to come right there and watch Jean lick him clean he wants to hold off until Blake is inside him. That seems to matter, for reasons he doesn't entirely understand.

"All right?" Blake asks, the words warm and soft against the back of his neck.

"Yes," he pants back, and he is rewarded by the way Blake's mouth latches onto the place where his neck meets his shoulder, lips and teeth worrying at him there until he knows that Blake has left a blotchy mark. Of course he did; the man takes what he wants, and once something is his, it's his forever.

But then, oh then Blake pulls his fingers out and replaces them with the head of his cock and this is it, this is what Matthew has been waiting for. Jean seems to recognize what's happening, even if she can't see it; she wraps her hand around the base of his cock and slides her mouth slowly, ever so slowly over his tip while the head of Lucien's cock pushes slowly, painfully slowly into him, and it makes no sense but they're moving in tandem somehow, Jean's mouth taking him deeper while he takes Blake's cock deeper and the sound that escapes him then is not one he thought he knew how to make.

It takes a series of shallow thrusts, the force of Blake's hips thrusting Matthew's forward, Blake's cock sliding deeper, and Jean on the other end, waiting, taking Matthew in an entirely different way, and _fuck _but it's almost more stimulation than he can stand. But then Blake is fully seated in him and he's full, so _full _he feels like he's going to burst from the sensation and Jean has taken him as deep as she can, her lips meeting the curve of her own fingers and then she _swallows _and a curses hisses past his lips.

"She's good at that, isn't she?" Blake murmurs in his ear, and it's strange but his tone is almost _proud. _She's done this for Blake then, probably more than once, but Blake's cock is so much bigger than his own; how does she even manage it, he wonders, looking down at the place where her mouth has closed over him.

"Unbelievably good," he manages to stutter, and Jean smiles around his cock like she's proud, too. The sight of her is so beautiful that Matthew knows he could not find the words to describe it if he tried, her soft pale skin, the dip of her waist, her perfect breasts soft and small and round and topped by dusky pink nipples he wants to take between his teeth. Blake is beautiful, too, he thinks, but he can't see Blake right now, can only feel him, hard and thick and as deep inside Matthew as he can possibly be.

She pulls back and so does Blake, and then - oh _fuck, _he swears - Blake slams back into him, and he realizes why Jean pulled away, because if he'd still been so far at the back of her throat when Blake's hips surged against him he would have hurt her. They find their way, somehow, the heady, powerful surge of Blake's hips and the softness of Jean's lips making a rhythm all their own and Matthew is powerless to do anything but rock in time to their movements. The way Blake is panting by his ear rockets his arousal even higher, and he can't stop the sounds that escape his own lips. He knows it feels good for him, knows he's going to come, and soon, knows Blake might get off this way, too, and that thought is almost enough to finish him right there, the thought of Blake driving into him until he spills himself deep inside Matthew, sated and complete. And Jean, what Jean is doing with her lips and her tongue and her hands is driving him mad but she's got her thighs pressed hard together and somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks he wants this to be good for her, too.

With his left hand he clutches the pillow beneath his head but he reaches out almost blindly with his right, palm coming to rest against the softness of Jean's thigh. He drags his hand higher and she knows what he wants, sucks the tip of his cock hard while she spreads her legs for him. It's no longer a question, whether this is enough to make Jean wet, because his fingers find their way up to her center and her soft folds are all but dripping with need.

"_Fuck," _he swears, fingertips swirling around and through her folds, and Jean whimpers against his cock, presses her hips toward his hand while Blake keeps pounding into him and everything around them because a swirling, towering inferno of need. "You're so wet, Jean," he tells her, and she whimpers again, though he's not sure whether it's the coarse language or the thrust of his two fingers inside her that set her off.

"What are you going to do about it?" Blake asks him, teeth nipping at his earlobe. Blake's got his hands on Matthew's hips, holding him tight, and Jean's hands are on his cock and his fingers are inside Jean and he is suddenly reminded of something he read about in a book; the image of the ouroboros flits through his mind, the snake eating its own tail, that endless symbol, the unity of all things, and that's what they are, he thinks, so tied up in one another that they have become a new being, and no way to tell where one ends and the other begins.

It's difficult, though, because as much as he wants to make Jean come he is having trouble concentrating over the endless press of Blake inside him, the fullness, the stretch, the aching want, the way his whole body seems alight with the sensation of it, and he's not sure how he's going to manage. Jean finds the answer, though, because of course she does; she has always been a practical sort of girl. She keeps one hand pumping his cock but moves her head to rest against his thigh, reaches down and catches his hand in her own. It's Jean herself who shows him where to go, her fingers pressing against his until his got two fingers curled inside her wet, perfect heat and his thumb is pressed against her clit, her own thumb on top of his, moving his hand in just the way she needs, and she begins to keen, high and sweet, and behind him Blake grows almost frenzied.

"_Fuck," _Blake swears. "I love the sounds she makes."

So Jean keeps making them, and together she and Matthew push her higher and higher until she cries out, sharp and sweet, and her inner muscles contract around his fingers and a flood of wetness rushes down his hand. She's trembling, and more beautiful in the aftermath of her release than anything else he's ever seen. Her hair is a mess, her cheeks flushed, her gentle face resting against the thigh of his mangled leg, and she is _beautiful. _She turns her head to press a kiss against his skin, just once, and then she sets to sucking him with a will and he knows they're in the home stretch, now. He can't last much longer; Blake's perfect, beautiful cock has pushed him beyond all reason, and Jean's mouth is doing the rest, and then, oh then he can't resist any more and he comes against her with a roar, tangling his still-damp hand in her curls and holding her against him. Maybe she wasn't expecting it because she pulls back, doesn't manage to swallow all of him, and they both watch as he spills himself across her breasts the way he's wanted to do since he was thirteen. Maybe she hadn't meant to, or maybe she had, because she's still smiling at him.

The world has gone black, nothing visible except for Jean's face, nothing at all existing beyond the waves of pleasure that fill him. Nothing, except for Lucien at his back, Lucien's fingers digging into his hips. Jean has come, and Matthew has come, and that means -

"Please," he manages to say, because he wants this, and he wants Lucien to know. "Please, come," he says.

Lucien kisses his neck, but even though Matthew can't see him he can feel him shake his head.

"Not like this," Lucien says.

And then he's pulling away, and for a moment Matthew resents the loss of the fullness inside him and the pleasure it promised. But only for a moment, because then Jean and Lucien are moving him again, and he realizes what's coming next, and he grins.

They lay him out flat on his back and Jean settles over him, her hands on either side of his head, her knees straddling his hips, her ass lifted in the air and a coy smile on her face while Lucien lines himself up behind her. There's a cloth in his hand, and Matthew doesn't know where it came from and he doesn't much care. He watches Lucien wipe his big cock clean, watches Lucien lean forward to press a kiss against Jean's shoulder, watches the way Jean smiles, the way her breasts sway just in front of his face, his release still painting her breast in thin white ribbons. This is what Lucien wanted, then, to come inside this woman he loves, to finish there, where he belongs, and Matthew can't blame him, not really.

There's a moment of waiting while Lucien prepares himself, and Jean fills it by ducking her head and brushing her lips against Matthew's forehead. Matthew wants to kiss her - _Christ, _but he wants to kiss her - but he doesn't, because he doesn't want to make Lucien angry, doesn't want to upset the tentative groundrules they've laid out for themselves, doesn't want to miss this chance to watch Lucien fucking Jean. They're both perfect, he decides, and together they are nothing short of miraculous, a work of art, sacred in their own sweaty, human way. Jean is wet - Matthew knows this because he had his fingers inside her only a few moments before - and Lucien is hard - Matthew knows this because Lucien was inside _him _only a few moments before - and there is no preamble here. Lucien thrusts into her hard and sharp and Jean cries out and rocks back against him, throwing her head back. The movement thrusts her breasts forward and Matthew reacts at once, holding himself up on his elbows so he can catch her nipple between his lips and suck his release off her skin.

She is moaning and Lucien is panting and they are rocking together, and Matthew can _feel _it. He's not a young man and he would never have expected this but something about the way he can feel Jean moving against him, can feel Lucien legs near his own, can hear them, smell them, _feel _them, brings his sated cock back to life at once. He's trapped beneath Jean, and she notices, he knows she does, and everything changes, somehow, as her moans take on a deeper cadence and the movement of her hips shifts. She is grinding her clit against his cock, the wetness from her sex and his own release easing her movements, and Lucien is fucking her hard and fast, and they are, all three of them, hurtling towards something monumental.

"Please, Lucien, please, please, _please," _each word comes tearing out of her in time to the thrust of Blake's hips, and Matthew has only ever before dreamed of hearing Jean so desperate.

"Come for me, my darling," Lucien answers her, and between the two of them, Matthew below her and Lucien inside her, they push her over the edge. She has no breath left to give voice to the scream that seems to leave her; her mouth opens wide and her whole body seizes and trembles, and the taste of her breast beneath his lips and the knowledge of what they've done to her sends Matthew over the edge. He comes in waves, groaning, and Jean tangles one hand in his hair and holds him against her breast while his release covers her in spurts. It's Lucien who holds out the longest - of course it is - but he finally succumbs with a roar, and empties himself inside his beloved, just like he wanted to all along.

There is a long, blissful moment where they hang suspended, connected, but then Lucien rolls onto the bed beside Matthew, and Jean follows. Her head comes to rest on Lucien's chest but her legs are draped over Matthew's waist, and as he tries to bring his breathing back under control he reaches down to absently stroke the place where his release has coated her, where Lucien's is sliding out in time to the spasms of her inner muscles, and Jean shivers and hums and does not tell him to stop touching her.

There are questions, so many questions, but he's got one hand between Jean's legs and Blake takes the other and lifts it to his lips, and they are all together, happy and relieved, and he decides that for now quiet is preferable to questions. For now, he's just going to enjoy this.


End file.
